Ron Weasley and the Sorcerer's Stone
by lotrluv
Summary: First year at Hogwarts from Ron's point of view!


**Ron Weasley**

**and the**

**Sorcerer's Stone**

Chapter 1: The Boy Who Lived

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, of The Burrow, were proud to say that they were a huge wizarding family. They were the first wizarding family you'd expect to be kind and helpful to others, and Mr. Weasley was the first person you'd expect to show up at a Muggle-wizarding involved catastrophe.

Mr. Weasley worked for the Ministry of Magic, in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. This was his ideal job indeed, for he loved everything to do with Muggles, the non-wizarding folk. Mr. Weasley was a tall, skinny man with bright, balding red hair and glasses. He had, so far, six boys of his own. His firstborn, Bill, was currently nine years old, and quite a fun kid to be around. Bill always liked to mess around with things, which his mother repeatedly told him over and over not to do, but Mr. Weasley found it quite amusing. Though he wouldn't dare tell his wife. His second son, Charlie, who had just turned seven years old the previous month, was usually found out in the garden, trying to steal Bill's broom so that he could practice Quidditch. Then there was Percy, the small five-year-old Weasley. He was usually found playing with his wand and showing his dad the things he could do with it. He was only five, but he could perform the Alohomora spell quite well, and his parents had to magic their doors so that he couldn't get in or out of them. Then there were the twins. They were three years old, and they were starting to turn into troublemakers. Mr. Weasley would come home sometimes and find that Fred and George had been messing with his Muggle artifacts he had left on his floor, especially with his plugs. After this incident had happened a few more times Mr. Weasley had decided to put his plugs on a shelf. His youngest son, Ron, who was one year old, hadn't developed a real personality yet. Mrs. Weasley always paid a lot of attention to Ron, him being the youngest. But that was soon about to change, as Mrs. Weasley was seven months pregnant with yet another child. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had already decided on a name - Virginia. Since they knew it was a girl, due to the simple pregnancy spell Mrs. Weasley had performed, they had spent time deciding on this name and thought it quite a suitable name. They knew the baby was going to be a redhead, as everyone in the family was, so they hadn't chosen a name like "Goldilocks" or something silly like that.

On the day that our story starts, a gloomy, cloudy Tuesday, Mr. Weasley got up to find Mrs. Weasley cooking in the kitchen, Ron in his high chair, and Fred and George running around their mother's legs.

"Oy!" said Mr. Weasley, smiling down at the twins. "What on earth are you two up to?"

"They've had a nice long sleep," said Mrs. Weasley, pointing her wand and muttering at the pancakes. The doughy mixture that they had been a second ago turned to nicely browned pancakes. "And now they're full of energy, I'm afraid."

Mr. Weasley laughed and picked up one of the twins. "George?"

The twin shook his head.

Mr. Weasley blushed and said, "Oh, Fred!"

Fred nodded and poked his dad on the nose.

Mr. Weasley put Fred down and the three-year-old resumed his running around with George.

"Fred, George, why don't you sit down and have some breakfast," Mrs. Weasley suggested.

The twins stubbornly shook their heads as they continued to run around in circles.

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Arthur, dear... would you mind...?"

"Fred, George!" said Mr. Weasley, after sitting down in a chair and making a plate appear out of thin air. "Why don't you eat with Daddy?"

Fred and George stopped and looked at each other. Then, with tremendous speed for their age, pounced on their father, who laughed and said, "Well, don't eat me, I've got to eat breakfast and go to work!"

Fred and George settled on their father's lap and Mrs. Weasley set three plates in front of them, filled with pancakes.

"Eat up," said Mrs. Weasley, "We don't want you to have empty stomachs, now do we?"

Fred and George both shook their heads and began eating their pancakes, neglecting to use their forks and just digging in with their hands.

"Oh, boys... Use your forks, for heaven's sake!"

"But I don't like forks," George protested.

"Me either!" exclaimed Fred, and they resumed eating with their hands.

"Now, Molly," said Mr. Weasley, "I don't think eating pancakes with their hands is going to hurt them, do you?" He picked up his pancake with his hands and began to eat it.

"Arthur!" snarled Mrs. Weasley, spinning around so fast it startled Mr. Weasley, and the twins jumped off his lap and ran upstairs. "Oh... for goodness sake Arthur, use your fork!"

Mr. Weasley suppressed a small grin as he picked up his fork and finished the rest of his pancake in silence. When he was done, he got up from the table and walked over to his wife, who was bustling about trying to make Bill, Charlie, and Percy's breakfast, all of whom had slept in.

"All right then," said Mr. Weasley, sighing. "I'm off to work. I'll see you tonight, dear." He gave Mrs. Weasley a swift kiss on the cheek.

"And how long will you be staying this time?" asked Mrs. Weasley in a would-be casual voice.

"I'm not sure," said Mr. Weasley. "Times are so hard at the Ministry these days, it's a miracle I got to sleep in my own bed last night. What with You-Know-Who and all his Death Eaters causing destruction everywhere..." he trailed off, shaking his head.

"I know, I know," said Mrs. Weasley, sighing. "I just wish it would all end."

Mr. Weasley looked at his wife lovingly, and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.

"I'll try to be home as soon as I can," he said.

Mrs. Weasley nodded, turning away and wiping her face on her sleeve, then proceeding with breakfast.

Mr. Weasley turned around, picked up his briefcase, and, with a last assuring smile at his wife, Apparated.

The Ministry was buzzing with all sorts of strange sounds. Paper birds were flying in and out of each room, taking urgent messages to their receivers. There were occasional shouts of dismay from somewhere down the hallway. Mr. Weasley arrived at his office just in time for a stooped, timid old wizard with gray-white hair to rush over to him and thrust a letter into his hand.

"Look at this," said the wizard, "Another shrinking doorknob... I tell you..."

While the wizard sat at his desk and, fuming, began some paperwork, Mr. Weasley put down his briefcase and opened the letter at his desk.

He read the letter, frowning as he reached the end of it.

"Oh, honestly," sighed Mr. Weasley, folding up the letter and putting it aside on his desk. "When will these people learn, Perkins?"

The old wizard Perkins shook his head and continued with his paperwork.

"Just last month we had Harold Salamander arrested for this very same thing. Honestly, these people just don't -"

"Wait a moment," said Perkins, as a paper bird had just landed on his desk. He unfolded it hurriedly and began to read. His face went a bit pale as he looked up from the letter.

"Another Muggle has just been killed. Apparently he had a sword hanging in his attic for safe-keeping and someone must've performed a charm on it because - well..." He made a slicing motion with his hand across his neck. "A Death Eater, no doubt."

Mr. Weasley paled, trying not to picture a sword slicing a Muggle to peices on its own. He reached out his hand and Perkins handed him the note. He read it and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

"All right," he said, folding up the note and taking his jacket from its hook on the coat rack. "I'll go reverse the charm on the sword. What's the address?"

Perkins looked at the note through his spectacles. "Eleven Brundlebury Way."

Mr. Weasley nodded and tried to put one arm in a sleeve of his jacket while walking out of his office and down the hallway to inform someone where he was going. A paper bird flew at him and hit the him in the nose before continuing its journey behind him, flying at a somewhat odd angle now.

Mr. Weasley finally got the first arm into the sleeve of his coat. Just as he turned a corner, and was about to put the other arm into the other sleeve of his jacket, there was a loud scream of excitement from the floor below.

Forgetting what he was doing, Mr. Weasley abandoned the other sleeve of his jacket and ran towards the elevator, attempting to see what was going on. Suddenly he bumped into a tall, bald black wizard who was walking quickly in the other direction.

"Kingsley!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, fixing his now crooked glasses. "Kingsley, what - what's -"

"The Potter boy!" exclaimed Kingsley, shoving Mr. Weasley aside and speaking to everyone on that floor. "He's lived! He - I don't know how - but his parents, James and Lily, they're dead!"

Mr. Weasley suddenly got a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. He did not know what Kingsley could have meant by their boy living, but James and Lily... they were dead...

Suddenly Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, came out of the elevator, red in the face and looking extremely triumphant.

"I've just confirmed the news!" he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and looking more wild than Mr. Weasley had ever seen him, "You-Know-Who is dead!"

Everyone was coming out of their doors now. There was yelling and screaming and crying and hugging everywhere. Mr. Weasley did not know how to feel. This news confused him so much that he thought he was going to have a migrain. Then Perkins came bustling out of his office, and yelled to Mr. Weasley over all the noise, "What's this about?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head, not being able to believe this.

Fudge attempted to quiet everyone with a movement of his hand, but this did little, so he yelled over everyone, "The Potter boy, Harry, he killed him!"

This silenced everyone for a moment, and then Fudge was bombarded with questions.

"What do you mean by that, man?"

"The Potter boy! He's only a year old, by god!"

"Fudge, you've gone mad!"

"LISTEN!" yelled Fudge, and the yells turned into whispers. "I will tell you the whole story. Everyone should first know that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was looking for the Potters, and that they had a Secret-Keeper to hide them."

Mr. Weasley, of course, already knew this. He continued to listen, as everyone around him went quiet.

"Well, apparently, that Secret-Keeper was switched at the last minute. The boy, Peter Pettigrew, the original Secret-Keeper..." Fudge sniffed and pulled out a handkerchief. "Well, he is dead now."

There were many shouts and yells at this point, and one woman fainted. Another wizard put a levitation charm on her, and she hung limply in mid-air as Fudge yelled for silence.

"QUIET!" he said, and, finally, when he could not silence anyone, he bellowed, "_Silencio!"_

There was an unnatural silence as everyone in the room continued to move their mouths but no sound came out.

"_Now_," continued Fudge, even redder in the face now. "If you'll let me explain... The job of Secret-Keeper was handed over to Sirius Black at the last minute, and then, just hours later, You-Know-Who was at their door!"

There were silent gasps among the crowd. Mr. Weasley could not believe his ears.

"Apparently," continued Fudge, "He came into the house, and - and killed James, who fought bravely before his death, I can assure you..." he blew his nose loudly on his handkerchief. "Then he advanced on Lily. She died protecting her son from the rath of You-Know-Who."

Mr. Weasley felt silent tears dripping down his cheeks.

"But," said Fudge, and he got a strange look in his eyes, "Harry lived."

Everyone looked at him in astonishment. Even if the charm was not on them, the whole room would have been silent.

"I don't know how," said Fudge, "but... You-Know-Who went to kill him and ... and ... all he left was a scar! A scar!"

More people were filing into the room now, and there were some whispers from those not under the charm.

"And the most confusing and most astounding part of it all is -" Fudge drew in his breath as everyone else held theirs. "You-Know-Who is dead!"

Some people began jumping up and down and hugging anyone in sight, and some stood staring at Fudge as though he'd gone insane.

"We don't know how it happened!" Fudge yelled. "It's a miracle! A miracle, I tell you, a miracle!"

And he muttered the counter-charm to the silencing spell before hopping on the elevator and disappearing to the next floor.

Mr. Weasley looked at Perkins, shocked. Perkins was looking silently at the spot where Fudge had stood, mouth agape, eyes wide and staring. Then slowly he turned to look at Mr. Weasley.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?"

Mr. Weasley could not answer. This did not make any sense to him at all. First of all, how could Voldemort have found his way into the Potters' house? If Sirius had been their Secret-Keeper... And Pettigrew? Dead? How did _he_ die? There were too many unanswered questions...

"Kingsley," said Mr. Weasley, laying a hand on Kingsley's left shoulder. "Kingsley, how could this have happened? Sirius -"

Kingsley sighed and shook his head sadly.

"Sirius... Siruis is a traitor, I'm afraid, Arthur," he said grimly.

Mr. Weasley thought he had misheard Kingsley.

"What? Sirius... traitor? No, he and James -"

"He and James were friends until, I suppose, Sirius met You-Know-Who in person," said Kingsley.

Mr. Weasley stared.

"Apparently Black killed Pettigrew after Voldemort killed the Potters," Kingsley continued. "And all they found of the kid was a finger."

Mr. Weasley couldn't decide what to believe now. "A finger..." he muttered, shaking his head sadly.

"Now Rubeus Hagrid - Hogwarts groundskeeper, you know - he's got the Potter boy," said Kingsley. "He's been taken to his aunt and uncle."

Mr. Weasley looked up at Kingsley. "Aren't they... Muggles?" he asked.

"Yes," said Kingsley. "That's just what Dumbledore told me. I don't know anything else." And he left, heading for the elevator.

Mr. Weasley thought about all this for a long time. Trying to process all this information in his head, he ran to his office, forgetting he still had only one arm in his jacket, scribbled a note to Perkins, and Apparated back home to tell his family about the Potter boy... the boy who lived...

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